


Courting with Cookies

by writetheniteaway



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke, Bellarke Secret Santa, F/M, Fluff, Found Family, Mom!Clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:29:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28493157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writetheniteaway/pseuds/writetheniteaway
Summary: When Clarke finds herself unexpectedly needing to bake a frankly excessive amount of cookies for the holiday fundraiser at Madi's school, who else can she turn to for help but her best friend Bellamy. Is an all-nighter in the kitchen enough to get them to realize they're in love?
Relationships: Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin
Comments: 34
Kudos: 142





	Courting with Cookies

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Secret Santa!!! I hope you enjoy this sweet little thing.

Clarke

“Madi, what’s this?” Clarke asks, pulling a crumpled piece of red cardstock out of her daughter’s backpack from across the kitchen counter. 

“Dunno,” Madi replies, taking another bite of her mac and cheese. “Mrs. Green said it was for grown-ups.”

Clarke groans in frustration when she realizes what the offending document is: a reminder about the class cookie swap fundraiser for the holidays. She has a vague recollection of an email about it a few weeks back, and - after checking her carefully curated calendar and realizing her residency stay at the hospital would be wrapped up by mid-december - had ambitiously agreed to a full ten dozen cookies of assorted varieties, including gluten free, nut free, and even one vegan recipe. 

That was before Madi had caught a cold and missed two days of school, which meant Clarke had no choice but to miss two days of work, and then there was a snow day the week after, meaning Madi needed an adult at home, and Clarke had to take yet another day off from the hospital. All of that left Clarke scrambling to make up hours before Christmas, and the cookie swap had fallen the same way as their Christmas cards, grocery shopping (hence the boxed macaroni and cheese on a Tuesday), and even the laundry.

Everyone had told her she was insane for taking in a foster kid right in her first year of residency; her professors, her friends, especially her mom. Convincing the social worker assigned to Madi’s case had been nothing short of a miracle. But when Madi came through the clinic, jumping out of her skin when a door closed too loudly and with a broken wrist, Clarke was hellbent on Madi never going back to the previous “home” she’d been staying in. Somehow she got lucky, and jumped through all the right hoops to get Madi safe home with her within a few weeks. 

That was almost two years ago, and Madi has been with her ever since. It can be difficult, but Clarke wouldn’t trade Madi for the world. Even if she is currently bone-tired and trying to run the mental gymnastics of how to bake ten dozen cookies by - she confirms once again just to be sure she has good reason to be stressed - tomorrow. 

Clarke glances at the clock, sighing. It’s already a little past seven, and if Madi isn’t in bed by eight they aren’t getting to school on time in the morning; and there is no way she’s going to be able to get a sitter here on short notice for something as trivial as needing to bake some cookies. Clarke considers waking up extra early in the morning and being the first customers in the grocery store, but that’s not a guaranteed solution this close to the holidays, and she definitely won’t have time to try more than one place if that doesn’t work out. 

Option three is to simply do what she can and hope the moms in Madi’s class don’t devour her for it. But given the fiasco that was the Halloween carnival when Clarke’s anatomically correct zombie guts had made a couple of kids cry, that isn’t exactly an option. She huffs in defeat. It looks like an all-nighter of cookie baking is in order. She starts a pot of coffee and shoos Madi into the bathroom to start washing up. 

Clarke yanks the cabinets open taking stock of what she has handy; which, given the aforementioned craziness isn’t much. She needs reinforcements. 

She dials Bellamy’s number, one of three she knows by heart without needing to pull up her contact list; remembering while it’s already on the third ring that it’s finals week for most universities and he’s probably up to his eyes in grading. She clicks the call off, trying to think of anyone else she knows well enough to ask for help. If she’s being honest, even though it’s just about some stupid cookies, there’s no one else she wants to admit defeat to. Bellamy is the only one who supported her when she fought for Madi; understanding with particular clarity after all but single-handedly raising his sister Octavia that sometimes you just do what needs to be done and figure out how it will all work out after the fact. 

It doesn’t hurt either that he’d been her best friend for nearly a decade at this point; and she’s been a little in love with him for nearly as long. 

Her phone rings and Bellamy’s name lights up on the screen, along with a ridiculous selfie of them and Madi covered in sand at the beach earlier that summer. 

“Hey there,” She says, hoping he doesn’t pick up the frazzled tone in her voice. “Forgot you were in grading hell, sorry to bother you.”

“Everything okay?” Bellamy asks her.

“Fine. Nothing I can’t handle,” She says. 

“You called instead of sending a text. It’s gotta be at least a little important.” 

“I’m just a failure of a parent is all. It’s fine, I promise. Really I shouldn’t have even called. I know this is your nightmare week..”

“Is Madi okay?” He asks, tone serious. 

“She’s great, I promise. Sorry for distracting you.” 

“Clarke will you stop apologizing and tell me what’s wrong?” 

“It’s stupid.”

“Try me.”

Clarke lets the story spill out, down to her bare cabinets and overflowing laundry. The exhaustion must be worse than she realized at first because she’s got tears of frustration smarting at her eyes by the time she’s done telling it. 

“So in conclusion, I suck as a parent.” She says flippantly, hoping he doesn’t hear her almost crying over the phone. 

“That’s bullshit and you know it, Just cause a bunch of stuck up suburbia housewives have nothing better to do with their lives than bake cookies doesn’t make you a failure.” 

“You’re right,” She says, drying her eyes. “Just a moment of weakness is all. Thanks for listening.”

“Anytime,” Bellamy says sincerely. “So I’ll see you in about an hour, okay?” 

“What? No, you have grading to do and-”

“Hey Clarke?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up and let me help.” She can’t help but laugh at that. 

“Are you sure?” 

“Positive. Gluten free recipe, nut free recipe, vegan recipe, and then two other options. 2 dozen of each and we’re in business. Do you have stuff to make dinner with this week?”

“You don’t need to-”

“Not the question.” 

“I’ve got some frozen chicken nuggets and some carrot sticks that could pass as a meal tomorrow.”

“Text me the list on your fridge,” Bellamy says, as if it’s nothing to offer to do her weekly grocery shopping. 

“You’re spoiling me you know,” Clarke says, but it’s more jest than resistance at this point. 

“I’m your best friend. It’s in the job description.”

Clarke chuckles again at that. “Yeah you are,” She says. And so much more. “See you soon, I’ll leave the door unlocked.” 

Clarke ends the call and snaps a picture of the grocery list hanging from a magnet on her fridge and sends it to Bellamy. With that settled she heads to check on Madi.

“Alright bug, how’s it going?” Clarke asks from the doorway to the bathroom.

“Face washed, teeth brushed,” Madi says dutifully. 

“And rinse?” Madi had some nutritional challenges in her previous homes, and as a result her teeth weren’t as strong as the dentist would like and they had suggested Clarke give her a fluoride rinse to use before bed. 

Madi looks at her sheepishly. “No. I forgot.”

“Forgot?” Clarke raises her eyebrows. 

“Uh...no.” Madi says with a frown, caught in her lie. 

“Mhm,” Clarke says. “Then why did you say that?” 

“Cause I didn’t want you to be mad,” Madi says in a rush, panic starting to creep into her tone. 

“Hey,” Clarke says gently, bending her knee to be face to face with Madi. She knew Madi’s past was an ugly one, and that meant discipline was a sticky situation, even over the smallest of things. It was a delicate balance between being firm and making sure Madi knew no matter what, she was still safe. Still loved. “You can always tell me the truth, no matter what. I won’t ever be mad. I might be scared or disappointed, but never mad. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Madi says, giving Clarke an enthusiastic hug. 

“You still have to rinse your teeth,” Clarke tells her softly. “Even if it does make your mouth feel funny.” 

“But-”

“Nu-uh,” Clarke insists. “Rinse. Then jammies.”

“Then Little House?” Madi asks hopefully. 

“One chapter, but only if you’re in bed and totally ready in the next,” She checks her phone quickly, “ten minutes.” 

“Yay!” Madi says excitedly, reaching for her mouth wash. Clarke heads back into the kitchen to fix her coffee and brings the mug with her into Madi’s room. Madi, enticed by the promise of a new chapter of her current favorite series, is already changed and ready for bed, pillows fluffed and stuffed dog tucked tight in her arms. 

The love of historical fiction is entirely Bellamy’s influence, of that much Clarke was absolutely certain. The first time he’d met Madi, only a few hours after Clarke had brought her home, he’d spent hours on the couch, talking to her about anything he could think of that a five year old might enjoy hearing about. Of course, that was Bellamy Blake: his definition of what a five year old might enjoy hearing about tended to skew to ancient mythology. Madi was instantly a fan of it, and of Bellamy, all the same. 

Not even a week later, Clarke had been called in to observe a complicated surgical procedure, and Bellamy seeing the panicked look on her face at trying to find a sitter on such short notice had immediately offered to take Madi for the afternoon. He brought her to his favorite place in the world, the local library, and Clarke came home that night to the two of them pouring over a picture book of Ancient Rome. 

Fast forward to about a month ago, and Madi defiantly proclaims one evening to both Bellamy and Clarke that she is “tired of reading about grown up boys who are bullies.” Clarke had laughed with pride at her challenge, and Bellamy suggested the first historical woman’s name to come to mind, Laura Ingalls Wilder. 

Clarke had the books in the back of her closet, having no real reason other than she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of them, and Madi had lit up when she pulled them out and they’d devoured nearly all of them, reading at least a chapter at night and often even two or three. 

“So where were we?” Clarke asks, settling on the edge of Madi’s bed and thumbing for their bookmark.

“Laura’s a teacher now,” Madi says. 

“And what else?”

“And she’s staying with mean people,” Madi says,concerned. “So her Pa came to bring her home so she wouldn’t need to be with them the whole weekend.”

“Yes here we are,” Clarke nods, finding the page. “Except now it’s gotten cold out, and her Pa can’t make the trip.”

“You mean she has to stay with those mean people?” Madi asks.

“Well let’s read and find out,” Clarke says, beginning to read aloud.

Clarke reads for a while, glancing over to make sure Madi is actually starting to wind down for bed. The young girl just starts to doze off when the door to the apartment clicks, snapping her awake.

“Who’s that?” She asks Clarke loudly.

“Hey half-pint,” Bellamy responds just as loudly from the hall. 

“Bellamy!” Madi jumps out of bed despite Clarke’s attempts at protest. 

Bellamy barely has time to place the groceries on the counter before Madi runs into him. He lifts her up for a quick hug, giving Clarke a wink over the young girl’s shoulder. 

“You’re definitely supposed to be almost asleep by now,” Bellamy says with a laugh, planting Madi back on the floor.

“But you just got here,” she whines. 

“Madi,” Clarke says, a warning tone in her voice.

Madi pouts for a second, scheming. “Can Bellamy come finish reading? Please?”

Clarke shoots Bellamy an apologetic look, but he simply grins, honored by the invitation as Madi takes his hand and starts dragging him towards her door. 

“Start with the bake and breaks,” he tells Clarke. “I’ll be there in time to get the more complicated stuff going.” 

“You’re my hero, Blake.” Clarke says sincerely, heading towards the kitchen with a mock salute. 

Bellamy had taken the idea of spoiling her to heart, it seems. There were four reusable grocery bags teeming with food; two that looked to be strictly baking supplies; the others containing at least two weeks worth of groceries, including her favorite peanut butter cereal. 

God I am so in love with you, she thinks, reaching for the first bag and digging out the pre-made chocolate chip cookie dough. 

*  
Bellamy

Bellamy can’t help but be a little proud at how quickly Madi had taken to learning history. It had only taken a short explanation from Clarke those few years ago for him to know he was on Madi’s side; remembering what it felt like to be blamed for all the mistakes the adults in his life had made, and punished for not having the solutions.  
He had been Clarke’s best friend for years, but it had taken Clarke’s fight to become Madi’s foster mom that made him realize he was hopelessly in love with her. The sheer tenacity and refusal to bend because this one little girl needed an advocate,the way Clarke could stare down a room full of people telling her she was making the wrong choice and still have this unshakable confidence that she was doing the right thing. She was a force of nature, a hurricane of headstrong determination, and Bellamy was more than happy to be spun up in the maelstrom that was Clarke Griffin. 

He considered it an honor and privilege to be the one person she would drop the persona of perfection around. Between her overbearing mother, overly critical professors, and facing down the skepticism of the entire world that no resident surgeon could manage to be a single parent, let alone to a traumatized foster kid, Clarke had no choice but to demand perfection of herself. The smallest mistake was a sign of weakness, and there were just too many people she needed to prove wrong. He’d stood by her one thousand percent when she fought for Madi, knowing deep in his bones that it was the right choice, and that if anyone could make the impossible possible, it was Clarke. 

Bellamy had raised his younger sister Octavia, and had extended an open invitation to Clarke to help her with any and every parenting question that might come her way. He hadn’t thought he would be quite so much of an influence on Madi’s life, but one faithful afternoon at the library had proven that they were destined to be thick as thieves, pouring over children’s history books four hours and choosing nearly a dozen to bring home and read at bedtime with Clarke. Both these girls had him wrapped around their fingers, whether they knew it or not. So of course when his phone rang he would put aside his student’s papers on the Government and Philosophy of Ancient Athens, rush to the grocery store and prepare for an all-nighter baking ten dozen cookies. What else does one do for their best friend who they’re in love with and her foster daughter who has already seen too much? 

So that was how he came to be reading about Almanzo Wilder and Laura Ingalls riding through a blizzard in a sleigh, his eyes darting to Madi’s hoping she would doze off and instead finding her on the edge of her seat, gripping the paw of her toy dog in anticipation of what comes next. 

“You’ve gotta get to sleep, half-pint.” Bellamy tells her. He’d snuck the endearment into a conversation right as Madi had begun to devour the series, and she had beamed when he used it, and he would do anything to keep a smile on this girl’s face, so naturally it had stuck. 

“But what about ‘Manzo and Laura?” 

“There’s plenty of books left, I’m sure they get out of the mess they’re in soon.” Bellamy reaches to dim the light on her nightstand. 

“And then what?” Madi demands.

“You want me to spoil it?” Bellamy asks, feigning offense. 

“No,” Madi says quickly. “Just tell me what happens so I can know before Clarke.” 

Bellamy laughs at that. “Well, Almanzo brings Laura home for the weekend, and they start courting.” 

“What’s that mean?” 

“It’s a history word. It means that Almanzo wants to spend more time with Laura, and get to know her and maybe even ask her to marry him.” 

“Like dating?” 

“Yes, like dating. But with more rules.” 

“Rules about dating?” Madi asks. 

“Yes. Like how you aren’t allowed to go on any dates until you have grey hair,” he teases her. 

“Meany,” Madi says, sticking her tongue out at Bellamy. “So where does he take her out to dinner?” 

“Courting is different. He would go visit her at her house, and then they would stay home and drink tea and talk. Or he would help her with chores or a project, as a way of doing something nice for her, like taking her home for the weekend.”

“Oh,” Madi says, nodding in understanding. “So like you do with Clarke.”

Bellamy can feel the heat rising in his face. “Not exactly.”

“But you and Clarke hang out here all the time,” Madi insists. “And when the stove broke you helped her fix it, and you helped move our Christmas tree inside and-”

“It’s different Madi,” Bellamy says, maybe a little too quickly for someone who had dropped everything to come bake some cookies. “It will make sense when you’re older.”

“Grownups are weird,” Madi says with a yawn. 

“Get some sleep,” Bellamy says, placing the book on her bedside table and exchanging it for Clarke’s forgotten coffee cup. 

“Night Bellamy.” Madi says quietly, eyes closing as he steps out of her room. 

“Sweet dreams kid,” Bellamy says, closing her door softly. 

He finds Clarke in the kitchen, nose scrunched in concentration as she reads the label on the cookie dough for what temperature to set the oven at. 

“Three seventy-five,” He tells her, sliding her mug across the counter. 

“Have I mentioned recently how much you’re my favorite person in the world?” Clarke asks.

“Not since I found the earrings your mom wanted for Christmas on a cyber-monday deal,” He replies. “But who’s counting?” 

Clarke laughs at him, sliding the first tray into the oven. “What’s the damage on all this?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bellamy insists, pulling a mixing bowl from her cabinet and laying out the ingredients for the vegan peanut butter cookies he’d’ googled in the baking aisle. 

“Like hell are you buying my groceries,” Clarke says indignantly. 

“You bought dinner last week,” He reminds her. 

“From a Wendy’s drive-through,” She counters. “Seriously, am I going to have to hide cash in your wallet again?” 

“I’ll drop all of it in the Salvation Army bucket, don’t test me princess.” He says with finality. “Put your vegetables away so we’ve got room to work.” 

“You and I both know your blatantly bisexual ass is not giving those assholes a red cent, so you can keep your empty threats and hand over the receipt.” Clarke says swiftly. 

“I must have dropped it in the snow,” he shrugs. Clarke stares him down for a long moment, which Bellamy nonchalantly ignores while mixing peanut butter and sugar together. 

“I’ll get you for this,” she says firmly, admitting defeat and starting to pile produce into her fridge.

“You’re welcome,” Bellamy says. Clarke clears the rest of the groceries away, giving her space to work across from him. 

“So what’s next?” Clarke asks. It’s clear that Bellamy has come into this baking all-nighter with some kind of a decisive plan of action, and she is all too happy to defer to his wisdom. 

“Set up the cooling racks, those chocolate chips should be ready to pull out soon. Then I’m going to slide you this and you can set the peanut butter cookies on the pan while I mix up the gluten free sugar cookies.”

“Rotating through letting these baking sheets cool is going to slow us down,” Clarke says, contemplating.

“I got one use trays for the gluten free and peanut butter,” Bellamy says, jerking his head toward the bag. “Just to be safe. And the reindeer nose just-bake sugar cookies you can pop into the toaster oven, they don’t need a whole big tray.”

“Seriously, I’m pretty sure I owe you my soul,” Clarke says, reaching for the tray packages. 

They work in sync with each other through the first few batches, getting through two dozen chocolate chip, vegan peanut butter, and both the “cheater” slice and bake sugars and the gluten free recipe. As Clarke predicted, the longest time drain is her apartment’s small oven, meaning they can only get so many actually baking at one time, and are quickly running out of counter space for things to cool. 

Despite Bellamy’s best efforts, he could see that the chaos of the kitchen’s disarray, the absurdity of the whole situation, and the fact that she was running on four hours of sleep and what essentially amounted to caffeine IV were getting to her.

“You wanna get some sleep?” He offers her. “You look dead on your feet.” 

“I’m fine,” She says dismissively. “Plus I could never leave you alone working on all of this. I’m already barely helping.” 

“You know I don’t mind,” He says. “Besides, what better excuse than an emergency baking session to avoid grading papers.”

Clarke plants her face in her hands, leaning against the counter in frustration. “You shouldn’t have stopped working over this.”

“It’s grading papers, not open-heart surgery. A lot less high-stakes than your day to day.” He says good naturedly. 

“But still-”

“But nothing,” He insists. “I wanted to come.”

“Just the whole thing sucks,” she continues. “I wanted to do something nice. For Madi and for her class because I miss so much, but then of course work ruined everything and Madi got sick and fuck-” Clarke hisses, and Bellamy winces as the thankfully empty tray crashes onto the tile floor. 

“Damnit,” Clarke says again and he’s not sure if it’s more frustration or pain but there’s tears in her eyes and that’s simply not something he’s willing to tolerate.  
“Hey, let me-” Bellamy reaches for her hand. 

“Don’t,” Clarke snaps, pulling it close to her chest. “I’ve just got to run it under water. Go make sure I didn’t wake Madi up.” 

She’s being Clarke: getting hostile and barking orders when she’s overwhelmed. Bellamy retreats to Madi’s room and listens at her door for any sounds of distress. It wouldn’t be out of the question for the noise to startle Madi awake and trigger a panic stricken fit of tears, but they seem to have gotten lucky and Madi is still fast asleep. Having that reassurance, Bellamy makes his way back to the kitchen, taking a potholder from the counter and lifting the offending tray off the floor. 

“How’s your hand?” He asks calmly. 

“Hurts like a bitch, but I’ll live,” Clarke says wryly, pressing a soaked washcloth against her skin. 

“Madi slept through it,” Bellamy assures her. 

“Oh thank God, I don’t think I could handle a meltdown right now,” Clarke says. Her face flushes red and she stammers out quickly “Of course if she needed me, I’d be there, I’m just glad she’s able to rest-”

“Clarke,” Bellamy shushes her. “You don’t have to explain. I get it.” Bellamy can see the tension diminish in her form. She was always on guard, keeping up appearances and putting on a brave face as if nothing could touch her. But he has a gift for helping ease the impossible burdens she put on herself, always had. 

“Come sit here,” he continues, pulling a stool out from the counter. “You’re off oven duty.”

“Bellamy-”

“If you think I won’t drag your sorry ass to bed and stand there and listen to make sure you’re actually asleep, you don’t know me very well Griffin.” He stands patiently with his hand on the back of the stool, waiting until she finally sits herself down in a huff. 

“You still better let me help,” she demands. 

“Sure, princess,” he agrees. “Moral support.” 

“Bellamy,” Clarke groans.

“Clarke. It’s almost two in the morning. You’re dead on your feet. You’re training to be a surgeon, your hands matter.” She finally seems to accept that he’s right, which leaves him free to go about the business of mixing up the last batch of dough for some chocolate crinkle cookies, a personal favorite he used to make every Christmas for O when she was a kid. 

“Being a good mom matters too,” she says quietly, a little later. Bellamy puts his spoon down and takes in her defeated expression. He knew this was about more than the cookies as soon as she called, but he hadn’t realized how deep this self-doubt was running. She was so good at hiding it, even from him it seems. No one is allowed to doubt that Clarke could do absolutely anything she set her mind to, least of all herself. 

Without really thinking, he’s drifting closer to her and pulling her in for a strong hug, the sort they reserve for the times that are just too much for words. He can’t help but have his heart burst a little when she receives it like he’s tossed her a life preserver in a storm, winding her arms tight against his shoulders, face pressed against his chest.

“You’re a great mom,” He murmurs quietly to her. “Baking some cookies doesn’t decide that. You fought for Madi when no one else would, and you made a scared little girl feel safe, feel like she mattered. That’s the kind of thing no amount of school fundraisers can possibly make up for if it’s missing, and it came to you as naturally as breathing.” 

“I don’t know how I could have done any of it without you,” she says in reply. “I feel like you taught me everything I know about being a parent.”

“You’re Clarke Griffin: you would have found a way.” Before he can think too hard about what he’s doing, he’s pushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I love Madi too, she’s a great kid and she deserves the world. And she’s lucky you found her.”

“We’d both be lost without you, Blake.” 

He shrugs off the compliment with a chuckle, drawing back to head back to the dough waiting on the counter.

“I mean it,” Clarke says, reaching for his hand with her good one, keeping him on her side of the counter. “You’re so important to Madi...And to me.”

Bellamy’s eyes flash up to hers, startled. 

“You’re,” She stops for a second, searching for the words. “God. Bellamy, you’re the most caring, loyal, incredible person I know. You believed in me when literally no one else did. I couldn’t have done any of this without you. Not just raising Madi. I’m just, you’re” She bites her lip, deep in concentration. “You’re just about everything to me. And I’m so scared of saying any of this because it might ruin everything. But somewhere along the way I realized that you’re so much more than just my best friend. You’re the person I want to talk to first thing in the morning. When I imagine myself after residency, when I dream about what I want it’s always me and Madi, and it’s always you too. I can’t even begin to picture my life where you aren’t in it.” 

Bellamy holds his breath. This can’t be real. This amazing force of nature, this woman who makes him believe that anything is possible, that refuses to let him make himself invisible. Clarke, who brings out the absolute best in him, his closest friend. The woman he’d spend his life with, if she’d have him. 

Unless he’s delirious with exhaustion, he’s pretty sure she’s saying that she’s in love with him. 

“Clarke?” He asks, hesitantly, taking a step closer to her. “Are you-”

She kisses him. It’s an eternity long and over too quickly at the same time. Clarke kissed him. 

“Yes,” She says, squeezing his hand tight. “I’m saying I’m in love with you.” 

Bellamy’s face switches from bewilderment to beaming, and he kisses her again before he can muster up any kind of a reply, pulling back but only so far.

“Oh good,” He says, leaning his forehead against hers. “Because I’m in love with you too.”


End file.
